Stubborn
by lightinthedarkness101
Summary: After a rather nasty run-in with a criminal, John is on bed-rest for several days. Despite Sherlock uncharacteristically trying to help out, John's being an arse about the whole thing. One-shot. Slight Johnlock. Part of the JohnlockChallenges gift exchange on Tumblr. Rated due to language.


Title: Stubborn

Rating: T due to author's paranoia.  
Pairing: Slight Johnlock  
Word Count: 1443

Hello there~! So, a quick announcement! I wish to severely apologize for the lack of updates concerning 'Reasons' and 'Consulting the Elements'. I've just started college so time's a little restrained with me. And what time I've managed to find for writing, I've been working on this~! This was for the JohnlockChallenges gift exchange on Tumblr. My prompt was from banditbrineshrimp and here is the fill for it. This can also be found on Tumblr along with my other fics if you're interested. Enjoy~!

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Sherlock is property of the BBC and ACD.

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"John, hold still!" Sherlock shouted as he tried to apply bandages to the blonde in question's leg. John, however, was moving his leg constantly, making it a rather difficult target. "And your leg's hardly in any condition to move around like that!"

The ex-army doctor merely winced in pain as he kept moving, avoiding the bandage at all costs. Sherlock sighed before giving his flat mate a rather dark expression, "Put. The damn bandage. On!" he mumbled, trying his best not to shout.

"Not unless you let me put it on myself." Was the curt reply.

"Have you looked at your arm!?" the consulting detective asked, pointing to another damaged limb.

"I can still put it on myself." John stated simply, adding a little smirk at the end. Sherlock, getting rather tired and rather annoyed, tossed the bandage to his flatmate.

"Fine." He mumbled as he exited towards his room. Once there, the consulting detective carefully sat on the mattress, legs crossed and hands in a familiar mock-prayer; deep breathing could be heard from the man as he concentrated. He tried to calm himself, an unusual thing for Sherlock.

John's outburst was not the first, and certainly not the last (A thought that made Sherlock cringe).

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John winced as he maneuvered the bandages, trying to ignore the pain in his arm as he unwound the coarse material. His teeth gritted together as he wrapped his ankle, his arm screaming with the strain.

"Damn it!" he shouted as the bandage slipped, causing it to roll all the way to the kitchen area. He sighed as he leaned against the couch, wincing at the pain in his leg.

"Maybe Sherlock…" he started, "No, no Watson! You've patched up far worse than this; you've been in the army for Christ's sake! You've had to amputate soldier's limbs off!" he shouted to himself, refusing to give in to the pain. "Maybe I can…" he trailed off as he eyed a piece of bandage near the table his leg was propped up on!

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Sherlock continued his breathing as he delved into his mind palace, trying to find the exact reason he went along with this;

_**1. It was your fault that John was injured in the first place.**_

"Bah." The consulting detective mumbled, discarding the answer immediately. While yes, he may have provoked the jewel thief into tackling him, John didn't have to run interference…A gesture that made Sherlock smirk, just a tad.

_**2. You're fascinated at the idea of actually taking care of something, and the fact that it's John makes it much more interesting…**_

Sherlock ceased his train of thought at this answer, something sparking within. It was true, somewhat, he was rather fascinated at the idea of taking something broken and repairing it. He had never done something so…different in his life. He was accustomed to seeing how a person died, not how to make them well…

Then there was the aspect of John…the blonde had always fascinated Sherlock, though hardly anyone knew just how much. For someone so…ordinary looking, John Watson was both exactly as he looked and the farthest thing from it. Able to kill a man and be perfectly sound moments later…

A thud from the next room over interrupted the detective's thoughts as he ran to the source of the sound.

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"Shitshitshitshit." John cursed continuously as he lay sprawled on the floor, bandage covering most of the clutter that covered the carpet.

"John!" Sherlock half-shouted at the sight of his flatmate, walking past clutter to reach him, "Are you alright?" was the only thing he could ask.

The ex-army doctor looked at his colleague, at bit shocked at this display of…concern?

"Um, yeah, yeah I'm fine…" John answered after finally registering the question, "A bruise to my ego, but physically perfect." He added with a smirk.

"I beg to differ." Sherlock replied, his expression softening. With only minor difficulties concerning weight, the consulting detective was able to lift his flatmate towards the sofa. The blonde only gave a wince at the pain as he was lowered onto the cushions.

"So, you tried to get the bandages by yourself." Sherlock started as he was picking up said material.

"Sherlock…" John stated, hardly in the mood for another deduction.

"And you refused to let me put them on earlier. That clearly shows your stubborn side. But that's always present." The consulting detective mumbled mostly to himself, though it was loud enough for the blonde to hear.

"And…" John sighed, realizing that this would be one of the (many) arguments that he would not win.

"And what?" Sherlock asked, turning his head and raising his eyebrow.

"And maybe I don't like being cared for…" the ex-army doctor answered simply.

"Huh, the army…" was all the detective mumbled as he finished gathering up the rest of the bandages, "Now, let me help you get these on. Properly!" he added as he walked towards the injured man.

"What did I just say?" the blonde asked with a slight shocked expression.

"Oh I heard." Sherlock stated simply as he walked over towards the blonde, almost immediately restarting their earlier fight.

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A few days had passed without much tension; John (reluctantly) allowed Sherlock to patch up his leg, but only (and John will take this to his grave) because he didn't want to accidently break something if he dropped it again.

Sherlock walked up the stairs, plastic bags on both sides. He grumbled as the bags continued to shift until he reached the open door. Mentally sighing, the consulting detective entered the kitchen, placing the heavy loads on the table.

"What the hell are you doing?" a voice from behind asked. After taking a quick breath, Sherlock turned to see John, using his one good arm to support a crutch.

"Shopping…I got the Shopping." The dark-haired man replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (and it was in Sherlock's eyes.)

"I said I would do it." The blonde mumbled through gritted teeth.

"You're injured. I had to go to Bart's." Was Sherlock's simple reply. He could feel the tension rise as John wobbled near the table towards the stack the consulting detective had made with the shopping. Sherlock felt slightly annoyed at his flatmate's movements…Why was he not appreciating Sherlock's work?

John's arm, while still in a bandage, had gotten better and he was now able to move it slightly. The consulting detective eyed the ex-army doctor's movements like a cat. The blonde grabbed a simple apple from one of the bags, tossed it up once and looked at it, raising it about eye-level.

Sherlock had, however, misread the gesture; thinking that John was going to throw the apple. Frustrated, the consulting detective pounced onto his flatmate's arm. The ex-army doctor caught on just in time and quickly moved his damaged limb.

"Just what the bloody hell are you doing!?"

"Don't throw away my hard work!"

"Wha…you bastard, I was going to eat it!" John shouted towards the dark-haired man.

"Like you deserve to eat!" Sherlock shouted back as he tried yet again to grab the fruit, with the blonde moving in a similar fashion to the other day.

"And just why's that!?"

"Because you've been nothing but an arse to me!"

"Now you know how I feel!" the two continued to shout as Sherlock tried and tried to grab the bloody apple, but to no avail. Despite his injuries, John Watson was still rather quick.

As he kept reaching, the consulting detective was thinking of a way to end this childish endeavor (despite him being the cause of it.). John needed to be distracted, that much was certain…but how? Suddenly, Sherlock remembered something from one of his and John's movie nights (John had accidently picked up a romantic-comedy, and like hell he wasn't going to watch it after paying for it).

The consulting detective waited for the right moment; right when the blonde's face was near his own, then he struck.

John stopped almost immediately when he felt a pair of lips crush onto his own. He could feel the apple release from his grasp; partly from shock and partly from…excitement?

Almost as quick as it began, Sherlock removed his lips from John's, scooping up the fruit in his flatmate's(?) shock.

"Well, that worked better than expected…" The consulting detective mumbled as he tossed the apple up. Catching it effortlessly, Sherlock smirked at John's rather confused expression and left the room before the ex-army doctor could say (or do, knowing John) anything.


End file.
